


All For One

by AmazingGraceless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Gen, she’s always fascinated me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29859348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazingGraceless/pseuds/AmazingGraceless
Summary: It's not easy being Hermione Granger's roommate. If the constant competition with her roommate and expectations from her parents weren't enough for Fay Dunbar to contend with, she has her own demons to battle after the traumatizing events of 1994 and 1995, starting with the Quidditch World Cup and ending with the death of her crush. Fay struggles to find a place in a world at war.





	1. When We Fall

Even in the wildflower-covered jagged cliffside, Fay Dunbar did not feel safe. She hugged her knees to her chest, wand in her clenched fist as she watched the waves foam white and crash below.

This little piece of paradise was hidden from others living in Dunbar Castle, mostly because the others did not live in Fay's room, where there was a secret passage leading out to this bit of land.

Fay leaned against the cool rocks, centuries old and still stronger than she felt. The walls had stood for so long— but would they stand against what was to come?

All too well, the Gryffindor witch remembered the previous year. It started with the Quidditch World Cup. She'd been so excited. With her dad and the other parents and kids who inhabited Dunbar Castle, she was cheering for Ireland. Loaded with a flag, hat, and a little figurine she'd never admit to buying of one of the Irish Beaters because she found him handsome, she went to sleep in their large tent content, vindicated by an Irish win.

Then she woke to fire in the night. Only flashes of the last night of the Quidditch World Cup remained in Fay's memory. She remembered turning just as she saw Ewan Dunbar, former Auror, keeper of Dunbar Castle— and more importantly, her father— run into the flames with his wand, after the men in hooded masks. She called out his name, but she was dragged away by someone.

She remembered how the woods twisted, and how dirty she felt for running, running when there were muggles in trouble. It was against every doctrine she'd been raised to believe, to leave like this.

It was supposed to be one of the best nights of her life. Instead, all she could call to mind was fire and twisted tree limbs in the darkness.

It should have gotten better. Oliver Wood was no longer Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. He kept tryouts closed while the Weasley twins were still at the school and there were no vacancies from previous years— a practice Fay found unfair. She put in several hours training with Ewan over the past four years, and played for the Junior Montrose Magpies in the Summer Junior Quidditch League. Surely she'd be chosen over the Weasleys, if the new captain let her try out?

Too bad Quidditch was cancelled for the Triwizard Tournament.

And even that had been fun, despite whatever was going on with Harry Potter. Fay had enjoyed herself at the Yule Ball, and even managed to get a date with one of the seventh-year Ravenclaw Quidditch players (who never talked to her again, but that was hardly the point) and she somehow got her crush to dance with her.

She even made friends with another girl, Dagny, whose family ran magical horse bloodlines in Iceland. They still wrote.

But then her crush ended up dead.

Fay gripped her wand so tightly, she thought for a moment that it might break. She sat next to Alice that night. The redhead kept glancing down to the panicked judges, then back to Fay. Viktor Krum was under the Imperius Curse— Fleur Delacour was unconscious— and Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter had disappeared altogether.

"Fay, what's going on?" Alice's dark blue eyes pleaded with her friend and roommate, silently pleading that it was just an ordinarily strange witching thing— not a tragedy taking place before their very eyes.

"I don't know," Fay was forced to admit. Her voice did not sound like her own— too low, too calm for her pounding ribs, for the way her knee jiggled as she realized at the same exponential rate as everyone else that something had gone terribly wrong.

Then, Fay blinked.

There was Harry Potter, sweating and bloody over Cedric's dead body.

Fay got to her feet, determined to see the rise and fall of the boy she fancied's chest— surely he was unconscious— he wasn't dead—

Alice rose beside her, hands flying to her mouth to muffle her own unconscious shriek.

Amos Diggory leapt from the stands, fighting Ministry officials to get to his son.

Fay could only hear her heartbeat and her rapid breaths. Colors were too bright, everything a blur. No one knew what happened in that maze. But Cedric Diggory was dead.

"Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, my arse," Fay muttered as she tried to forget the previous years.

She wasn't sure what to believe about the entire thing, either. There was what the Daily Prophet said, and what her stepmother, Briallen, declared about what Harry Potter had said.

"I don't think the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is what happened," Briallen said the first night Fay returned from Hogwarts. "Something terrible happened to that boy, and it may be linked to Barty Crouch Jr., and the men who were once Death Eaters— I have no doubt about that. Cedric was killed by bad people, and Potter was attacked. But magic can't bring back the dead— any child raised in our world knows that."

But was You-Know-Who ever really dead, Fay wondered. Or was that a fairytale the adults told themselves, because they didn't want to believe any alternative?

Fay was finished with fairytales.

She stood up. Yes, Potter's story was crazy. And she didn't want to believe it. But what if You-Know-Who really was among the living once more? She couldn't stand blind to it. The Dark Lord killed her mother.

That was why her father didn't want to believe it, Fay decided. Because he didn't want to believe that his first wife's murderer was still out there. That brought a whole slew of fears too deep and profound to ever be explained.

But Fay knew the truth.

As she stared out into the Scottish shore, she wondered what the next school year would bring. Actual Death Eaters? Would the Dark Lord fight her? Kill people like her friend, like Alice?

No, she couldn't think like that. There would be happy memories made this year, just like the previous years. Fay closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember the memories more vividly than she was experiencing her present.

Buying Ireland swag with Morag. Reading _A Wrinkle in Time_ with Alice and speculating on whether the Murrays would be wizards. Playing Gobstones and winning the Hogwarts tournament. Dancing with that Ravenclaw boy. Dancing with Cedric. Talking to Dagny. Laughing into her tea mug in Divination with Lily.

There would a future, and if she could just be a candle in the sea, it would be better. It had to be.


	2. World of Stone

Dinner at Dunbar Castle was a wonder— and yet Fay found that she wasn't hungry that evening. She didn't want to talk to the other inhabitants. Not even Morag, to talk about unicorns, or her father about Quidditch. She especially didn't feel like talking to Briallen just then, not with her realizations about Harry Potter.

Instead, she wandered through the warmly-lit halls into the library. She entered through a large staircase, with the plans to the castle and a map of Scotland plastered to the wall. On the map were notes of magical locations within Scotland, highlighted in purple ink against the mere black of important muggle towns.

Fay knew the plans well enough to know that the secret passageways were not included in it.

She preferred the Dunbar Castle Library to the one at Hogwarts. Most of the time it was sparsely occupied, and her grandfather, Evander, did not insist on absolute silence. Instead, he was often making things with his hands to spruce up the place, like the paper butterflies on the shelves that flapped their wings, or the fluffy pillow cushions. It was all in a mint and lavender color scheme, and was like a little fairyland home.

Fay walked to the back— where all of the genealogy records were. The lives of all who took residence in the castle were recorded, with births, deaths, and marriages for anyone to come and see. Whether or not more was added was up to the individual families.

Of course, one family in particular had the largest, most extensive records— the ones who owned and managed the castle for years.

Fay knew where the large filling cabinet was, stacked with rows of boxes, boxes filled with scrolls recording the life of each and every Dunbar, and anyone who married into their family.

Some had been lost along the way, to marriage with other families in Britain. But if they were a part of the main bloodline, they were here.

The furthest back was her ancestor— Sir Ambrose. There were a few generations— a gap— between her ancestor and the resurgence of the scrolls— a fact that always made Fay suspect that the custom was never Ambrose's idea. Indeed, there seemed to be more legend than fact in that parchment.

The facts were thus: Sir Ambrose served in King Arthur's court, as a knight with magic. For his service, he was awarded the castle on the cliffside that would give his family his name and pay unto that castle's name later. He chose to hold a permanent court for all with magic in Scotland, a refuge from the Orkney clan and muggles alike.

Ever since Fay was a little girl, the ideas of chivalry and responsibility had been impressed into her, with the man who inspired the knight statue in the courtyard as her North Star.

"You're a pureblood," Ewan admitted to her, when she was a little girl, barely taller than her mother's riding boots— a mother that was long dead by that time. "Some, like the Malfoys, think that means they're better than everyone else. It doesn't. But it gives you privilege. What you do with it is up to you— but in this family, we use it to defend others who can't defend themselves. That is what chivalry is. Do you understand?"

"I do," Fay said to the cabinet as she ducked down to reach the bottom scrolls in a box marked with the most recent generations. Her hand first brushed against her own— still quite slender, with not much to it. Her date of birth— _November 20th, 1979_ — her full name— _Fay Rhiannon Dunbar_ — how long she'd been in school— _1991- to the present_ — her house— _Gryffindor, as was traditional_ — and every report card of marks from that time.

She didn't have to reach far to find her mother's— Ewan Dunbar's first wife. Fay plopped down on an old rug, knitted by Evander in his spare time, and gently unrolled the scroll.

_Dorcas Tabitha Meadowes_

_December 22, 1959—November 31, 1979_

Just eleven days after Fay was born, Dorcas died. Fay wasn't one for Arithmancy (that was Alice, it was always Alice) but she knew that the number had to be significant. Numbers like that— they were rarely coincidences in their world.

A brief summation of her mother's life was in that document. She was a Gryffindor, too, in school, and had been roommates with the famous Lily Potter and Marlene McKinnon. Dorcas was not one for Quidditch, but she'd been a part of the Alchemy Club— that had to be where Fay had gotten it from— and was a champion racer in the magical horse circuit— particularly when it came to pegasi.

Then she joined the Order of the Phoenix, preferring that to the Auror Office, where Ewan had gone. She was good, too. Good enough for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to kill her himself. Eleven days after Fay was born.

She hadn't even told Ewan what exactly she did for Dumbledore, and the old wizard never cared to enlighten him after he lead to her death.

Fay never learned to ride the magical horses her mother's family bred and raced. The Meadoweses and the Dunbars wanted nothing to do with each other after the death of their shining girl. But at least she could fly, even if it was on a broom and not a pegasus, and at least her father let her collect the figurines, plushes, and posters that littered her room.

"Thought I might find you here."

Fay rolled the scroll back up as she looked to see her father standing there.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about Mum— if You-Know-Who's back—"

"He's not." Ewan's voice was as firm and solid and cold as the stone of the castle. "I won't have Dumbledore's fear-mongering. I know you haven't been well since the end of term."

"It started before then." Fay closed the doors to the cabinet, and turned to Ewan. "At the Quidditch World Cup. Maybe before then— with what happened with Quirrell, they say—"

"Fay, you know magic can't resurrect the dead," Ewan said. "That's why we read 'Babbitty Rabbitty' and 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.' So even our children know."

"I know that." Fay planted her hands on her hips. "But who even said that You-Know-Who was ever dead? What if he was waiting and biding his time—"

"This is exactly why I'm worried about you returning to Hogwarts," Ewan said. "You're fifteen— this isn't something for you to worry about. Whatever happened to those kids in the maze— that's for the adults to figure out."

"But what if he is back, Dad?" Fay insisted. "I know Harry Potter is many things, but he's not a liar."

"I do believe that he believes that the Dark Lord returned," Ewan said. "But Briallen's right— that boy must've seen something horrific—"

"But doesn't it explain all the activity with the Death Eaters running about again?"

"What are you getting at, Fay?"

For a moment, the young witch felt guilty. Her father looked old and tired— a man who lost the mother of his child to a darkness that they'd just managed to move on from— only to return.

"Mum would want me to help," she said in a quiet voice. "To avenge her."

"She died when you were eleven days old— you can't possibly know—"

"And I'd think you'd want me to do something, with all you've taught me about chivalry—"

"This isn't a game, or some adventure or Arthurian romance, Fay." Ewan pressed his hand to his wrinkled forehead. "I want you to promise me something. Don't let Dumbledore tell you to join the Order, or any army of his, for that matter. That man's not the saint he's made out to be, mark my words. I have no doubt he was involved in your mother's death."

"Dad—"

"Promise, or I will send you to an alternative school," Ewan said, folding his arms over his chest. "He's done it so many times, manipulating kids— just out of school— to kill and steal and lie and die for him. I won't let him to that to you, like did to—"

He couldn't finish the name.

Fay wanted to bravely protest. But she thought of Alice. Alice needed her now, more than ever.

"Fine. I promise."


	3. Old Familiar Faces

"And remember your promise," Ewan said, glancing around at Platform 9 and 3/4. There were Aurors around, and more adult witches and wizards than usual. Any hopes that Fay had— misguided as they were— of trying to move on from the last semester were dashed with that sight.

No one was forgetting the Triwizard Tournament, the Quidditch World Cup, or any of it.

Then again, Fay wondered whether it was better to be reminded of it and know that the adults hadn't forgotten, or if it was better to forget and be vulnerable to the Dark Lord.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, Dad," Fay said, snapping back to attention. "I promised, didn't I? You told me that I should always keep a promise."

"I know." Ewan glanced around briefly again— a holdover from the first war. "But I worry. Especially with what happened to your mother—"

"My mother is right here." Fay nodded at Briallen, who smiled, despite her arms being crossed over her chest in a vaguely authoritative stance.

"I've never pretended to be her." Briallen's voice was soft, tentative— curious to see if Fay meant what she thought she did.

"I know," Fay said. "But you raised me."

"Don't get all sappy on us to avoid the topic." Briallen straightened up. "If Dumbledore approaches you about any extracurricular activities, you say?"

"No, thank you."

"And you run, far away," Ewan added.

"Got it." Fay nodded. "Anything else."

"Stay safe." Briallen dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Something strange is going on. It's not the Dark Lord— but there have always been those who would abuse their gifts."

Fay nodded, and the station whistle blew, reminding parents and students alike that five minutes remain.

"We'll get your trunk in the luggage car," Ewan said. "You go find your friend."

He then nodded at something behind Fay, so she turned to see Alice wave a little finger wave.

Fay waved back, her arm wide and swinging.

"Fay, watch yourself—"

It was too late, her arm collided with someone, and they fell to the ground.

"Merlin's beard!" Fay whirled around, throwing her hands up in the air as she saw a boy in a Ravenclaw uniform fall to the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Might've broken my nose," the boy said as he glanced at the spots of blood on the ground. "But that's an easy fix." He pulled a wand out from a hidden pocket in his blazer. "Episkey!"

Fay blinked. She was used to Healing Magic— but she'd never seen a student her age using such magic, except maybe Hermione Granger.

Still, she offered a hand out. The boy took it, and smiled. "No harm done— I'm Arman. And you are—"

"Fay. . . Dunbar," she said.

"Oh, right, I thought I'd seen you before," he said. "Gobstones Club. To be fair, I was taken home during our second year, and then there was the trip to Castelbruxo during my third year— and we didn't meet at all last year, so I don't blame you for forgetting."

"Sorry," Fay mumbled.

"It's alright," Arman insisted. He glanced at the train. "We should get on the train, shouldn't we?"

"Suppose so," Fay said. She turned to Briallen and Ewan, who were lifting her trunk and waved them. "Love you! I'll write a letter tonight!"

Ewan waved her off, and she leapt onto the car, and raced into the compartment where Alice sat.

She seemed to have a new galaxy of freckles on her face, and her red hair was brilliant, the color of gold in the early autumn sun. She was still dressed in a muggle flannel and t-shirt with a smiley face.

"My summer was brilliant," she declared. "I'll have to tell you all about it— Mum and Dad took me to Bath— see, because I'm a witch, they let Mum and Dad in to see all the wonderful machine-work they're doing there. I think it'd be wonderful to work with, don't you?"

Fay nodded, and glanced out the window. The city lights of London never seemed as strange and threatening to her as they did now. The sun was dimming, the gray clouds covering it— the emptiness of it all so threatening above the strangeness of the city.


	4. The Blooming Heather

Fay felt a weight release from her shoulders as she entered the dormitory. Her things were all sitting out and ready to be unpacked. This had been as much of a home as Dunbar Castle had been for the past several years, and she always felt happy to be sitting in her bed.

She reached into her trunk, first pulling out her vintage Moontrimmer. It had belonged first to Evander, then Ewan, before being passed on to her during her second year. It had an Anti-Burglary charm upon it, and was easily the best broom Fay had ever seen. Easy to repair, difficult to break, and damn fast, it was in the same league as Potter's Firebolt.

Surely, since Oliver Wood was gone, there would be tryouts that year. She could give either one of the Weasley twins a run for her money and become a Beater on the official Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Tomorrow afternoon, she would have to start practicing. She glanced at Alice. Her friend would not like it— she never did care for Quidditch or flying— but she would understand.

"I'll get Dad to send us his fudge recipe for the house-elves to make for the Dr. Who marathon next Sunday," Fay offered. "All you have to do is just watch me practice, make sure the Bludger doesn't actually kill me."

Alice looked up from some _Star Wars_ book she was reading. "Fine. But only for that fudge— it's the best I've ever had. Puts our neighbor's shop to shame."

Fay grinned and pumped her first. She then sat down and gave her broomstick a loving clean-up, polishing the handle and clipping any fraying twigs. The Moontrimmer would have to be re-twigged before her seventh-year, but Evander had done that once before, after the end of his broom-racing days as a young man were put to an end by a rather unfortunate crash.

Then again, it resulted in him meeting a Healer that eventually married him, becoming Ewan's mother.

Once that was done, Fay pulled out her favorite, a plush pegasus with green hair and tail, a brown coat, and green wings. Dorcas had sewn it herself after her favorite horse as a child, right before she went into labor with Fay.

Running her hand over the soft and worn texture, Fay sat it on her pillow, adjusting everything for a moment. Satisfied, she reached into her trunk and pulled out a banner advertising the Montrose Magpies— the official team, and the Junior League version that she'd been flying for.

"Come on, everyone knows that Puddlemere United is best," Parvati pointed out.

"The fact that Oliver Wood is on the team alone is a reason to dislike them," Fay declared. "Besides, I've got to support a Scottish team, and the Magpies are locals. I'll only support English bastards if they're in the World Cup— and not a second sooner."

"Oliver Wood wasn't that bad," Hermione said softly.

Fay rolled her eyes. "Please, you're just saying that because Harry benefitted from Oliver being willing to bend a few rules."

"Yes, it always does come back to Potter with you, doesn't it?" Lavender demanded.

"I don't see what—"

"Will you keep defending him, now that he's mad and claiming You-Know-Who is back?" Parvati asked.

Hermione blinked. "Lord Voldemort is back, Parvati."

Any chance of good feelings had died. Any chance of ignoring the heaviness of Umbridge's speech, of the Aurors at King's Cross Station— it all flew out the window when Hermione Granger said his name.

Fay herself flinched.

Hermione just continued to unpack, and Parvati and Lavender exchanged a look. They didn't believe the brightest witch in their year. Despite that the witch had said the Dark Lord's name— Fay couldn't help herself.

"Granger's right, you know," Fay said before she could stop herself. "Don't all the little strange things that were happening last year make more sense now?"

Now Lavender rolled her eyes. "Please, I'm pretty sure you believe that because you want to believe your crush died bravely rather than because he was an idiot and got himself killed by something in that maze."

Fay turned red from anger and embarrassment. "Lavender! I told you that in strict confidence!"

"Everyone knows you have a thing for pretty Quidditch players." Lavender shrugged.

"Yes, I remember when you and Alice ranked the members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team," Parvati said.

"I thought we were alone in the Owlry," Fay said, turning to Alice, who shrugged.

"Merlin, I wish you were so I didn't have to overhear you twits giggling about Roger Davies," Parvati said, looking to the sky. "I have no idea how he ended up in Ravenclaw— Padma says he really is as much of an idiot as I thought he was."

"Still, whatever my feelings about Cedric are— were— we can't deny the Dark Lord returned," Fay said.

"I can," Parvati said. "And I suggest we all get to bed. I heard from my mother that Umbridge will be running a different ship around here."

"I thought Dumbledore was still headmaster," Fay pointed out, confused.

Parvati didn't answer her.

Alice shrugged, and Fay sighed. So much for the solace of her dormitory.


End file.
